


What He Needs

by swordliliesandebony



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 03:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18086198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swordliliesandebony/pseuds/swordliliesandebony
Summary: Bucky is a moody mess, in need of a certain something. Sex worker Steve Rogers to the rescue.Written for Bottom Bucky Fest 2019 prompt: Shrinkyclinks AU where Pepper knows what Bucky needs, and gets it for him. In the most classiest Pepper way, of course. The rest of the team is grateful because he’s been a pain in the ass and apparently needed a good dicking.





	What He Needs

Bucky had to hand it to Pepper—she had a real knack for figuring out  _ exactly  _ what he wanted, and by god did she ever deliver. He doesn't know what to expect when she tells him to be in his apartment at nine sharp, to keep his evening open, to keep his  _ mind _ open. He doesn't know what to expect when she tells him to thank her later, because she knows he won't be the only one to do so. He has an itching feeling at the back of his mind, and his suspicions bear some fruit when he opens his door to the knocking.

Right on schedule.

What he finds is something that makes his heart leap in his chest, his fingers twitch at the doorknob. The blonde standing in the common hall can be described in a number of ways. He's short and slim, with perfect blue eyes all shaded by impossibly long lashes. The kind of lips you can so easily imagine wrapped in devilish ways. He's dressed well, as if he's intending a night on the town, but those blue eyes are narrowed as if he doesn't suppose he'll be leaving the apartment any time soon. Bucky gets the odd impression that neither of them will.

"I'm Steve," he says, and he holds out a hand to be shaken. Bucky takes the invitation after only a beat and he steps aside to allow entry when the warm touch breaks. He's suddenly nervous, for reasons he doesn't entirely understand. No, on second thought, he understands the reasons perfectly. He's nervous because Pepper has, by some unknown means, procured him a  _ date _ for the night. The sort of date that doesn't come with dinner and a movie. Something inside him lurches, something growls with hunger. Yeah, she had figured out just what he wanted, down to a smile that's both warm and sympathetic.

"Bucky." Bucky introduces himself belatedly, but he can't help but think it's all unnecessary. It's hard to mistake the newest Avenger for anyone else, with his arm fidgeting at his side, with his hair pulled back, untidy with strands framing his face haphazard and wild. He has to remind himself, here and there, that he isn't an unknown any more. That he's stopped being a ghost. He wonders if Pepper had taken this into consideration when she arranged this  _ meeting _ but, no, of course she must have. Pepper takes  _ everything _ into consideration.

"You've never done this before." Steve says it, doesn't bother asking, and Bucky only gives a shaky smile in response. No, he's never done this before. He's never had someone arrange for someone to come to his apartment and...what, exactly? He has a few  _ very  _ good ideas, but as to the details, he's coming up blank. He licks his lips and he keeps that smile plastered to them, a shrug forming at his shoulders.

"Guilty as charged. Not really sure where to begin." The admission isn't as hard to make as Bucky might have expected. The guy pegged him immediately as being inexperienced in the field, and that was something of an understatement. There were a lot of things Bucky hadn't had time to adjust to just yet. But he's pretty sure that this sort of service has always been there, somewhere out of his mind and out of his reach. He can't say he's complaining now, though. And, after all, it would be rude  _ not  _ to accept Pepper's thoughtful gift.

"We can take it slow, if you prefer that. You have me for the night, so there's no need to rush." Steve walks across the floor as if he owns the place, and the confidence strikes Bucky somewhere between the ribs. He follows like a lost puppy when Steve saunters over to the couch, sits himself comfortably in the plush and slings an arm around the back. He's beckoning without a single word, and Bucky slots himself close to the man, close enough that he can smell his cologne, that he can feel heat radiating. Close enough that he could take a few more inches and be totally enveloped.

"Thing is, I'm not exactly sure what I have you  _ for _ ." That isn't true. Bucky shouldn't be telling lies, but he wants to get the specifics taken care of, and he doesn't know how to ask that straightforward. He doesn't know how to come out and say, 'so you'll fuck me within an inch of my life, and Pepper will pay you handsomely for the effort?'. He doesn't know how to ask if  _ he's  _ the one to hand over the cash when the deed is done, or if this has all been arranged ahead of time. Truth be told, he doesn't even know what  _ deeds _ will or can or should be done, and it's all making his stomach and chest grow tight with anxiety just the same as anticipation.

"You have me for anything straightforward. I'll provide protection if you don't have any. I'm not  _ equipped  _ for fetish play tonight, so you'll have to rebook if that's a must. You tell me what you want, and I'm guaranteed to satisfy." Steve isn't precisely business-like. He's blunt, straightforward, and smiling through his spiel. It doesn't leave much more question in Bucky's mind, other than as to what he'll ask for. 

There are at least a million good ideas rushing to Bucky's mind. He edges himself closer to Steve, so that they're pressed against each other, shoulder to shoulder, with Steve's arm still at the back of the couch, extending behind him. He's starved for this sort of touch—it's been more than a lifetime since he's indulged in anything like it. And he thinks for a moment that maybe it's not what he should be after, that it will come as an odd request for someone whose duty is so overtly erotic. But Steve closes any remaining distance between them. He lowers his arm so that it wraps around Bucky's shoulders. His fingers move to the back of his head, to play at the band in his hair. He undoes it with ease and, when his hair is free, his fingers dance through it, combing and smoothing, brushing back and chasing shudders down Bucky's spine.

"Hard to decide," Bucky admits, and it feels like there's something caught in his throat. Steve chuckles and he brushes his cheek in against Bucky's shoulder, not that he can feel the warmth of skin against the cool of metal. He could curse for it, but Steve doesn't pay it any mind, only using it as a starting point from which he curls himself all catlike around Bucky. His arm tightens and his breath warms against Bucky's throat.

"Why don't we start slow, then?" Steve asks, and his voice has dropped to something husky and irresistable. It's hard to believe such a deep, velvety sound is coming from someone so small, but it's a juxtaposition that Bucky is intrigued by, that he appreciates on a very basic level. He lowers his head in a nod and Steve goes on, "You just tell me if I do something you don't like, and we can go from there."

Bucky wants to say that he doesn't think there's anything Steve could do to him that he wouldn't like, but the words die in his throat when heated lips run over it. He only gives the most subtle of nods again, then he lets his head fall back, exposing plenty of skin for Steve to work his tongue over. It's all heat, all delicious wet heat, and it has Bucky's body going haywire. How long had it been since someone paid him this sort of attention? He didn't have the mind to work out that math. 

Steve's tongue presses against the rapid flutter of pulse, chases it, nips in a way that makes Bucky gasp out his pleasure. It doesn't take much for Bucky to decide that Steve is good at what he does. And this is, of course, only the start. He feels him moving, lithe and easy, and in a moment he's perched in Bucky's lap, looking down at him with a fire in his eyes as if he's ready to devour. Bucky thinks that would be okay, really.

"Can I?" Steve asks, his fingers playing at the hem of Bucky's t-shirt. Bucky has to make a concerted effort to look at Steve, to keep his head from lolling back and his eyes from rolling as he simply takes in the sight. And Steve is one hell of a thing to be looking at. Those thick, pouting lips send Bucky's blood pumping, and those eyes, god  _ damn  _ those eyes. He murmurs a breathless, 'yeah', and he feels fingers slide up against his abdomen, shirt gathering and lifting about Steve's wrists as he moves.

Bucky's muscles tense as Steve's fingers move over them, shifting and tightening in response to a feathery touch. He's already being driven crazy, already feels the blood rushing between his legs, being pulled into a state of proper arousal. If Steve notices, he doesn't comment just yet, and that's a relief for Bucky. He's pretty sure, after all, that he shouldn't be getting hard just from a little bit of touching. He leans forward when Steve's hands span across his chest to let the man strip him of his shirt entirely.

He wonders how he looks, wonders if Steve likes what he sees. There's a part of Bucky that can't help but remember this is work for him, but he has to hope that some jobs are better than others, that he's the sort of client one might  _ want _ to work for. Regardless of the truth, Steve sells it well. His eyes sweep over Bucky, his fingers still running their course, learning his body, finding sensitive spots in dips and lines. 

His lips find Bucky's and it's absolutely electric. Bucky doesn't think he remembers exactly how good kissing works, but he opens his mouth to Steve's insistence and their tongues tangle and it's hot and wet and perfect. Bucky wants to kiss him long and slow, hard and fast, every way he can, and he wants to do it for a very long time. Much longer than the first kiss actually lasts, before it's trailing down over his chin, along his jaw, back down his throat.

There's no ignoring the erection tenting his sweats any longer, but Steve seems content to leave it unchecked for the moment, his lips working down Bucky's chest now. They wrap around one nipple and his teeth tug, pulling with them an unintended groan from deep down. It's an explosion of sensation, it's enough to make his back arch, to make his chest press more firmly against Steve's mouth, and he swears he feels lips pressing into a smile there. Like he's found some form of treasure in the way Bucky reacts.

It's now when Steve finally pays attention to the well-formed interest between Bucky's legs. He palms through the sweats and he lifts his head to smile, something devilish and terribly appealing. It makes Bucky think that he's terribly pleased with himself. More than that, it makes Bucky want to kiss him again. So he lifts his hand to cup the back of his head and draw him close once more. Steve doesn't deny him the pleasure, his hand still rubbing over Bucky's erection while their tongues tangle once more.

Bucky is pretty sure he could die like this and do it happily, with Steve's lips trailing more kisses along the edges of his lips when they part. He's pretty sure that he could simply fade into nothing and be glad for it, the way Steve's hand wraps around him through his pants, promising to soon leave them wet and ruined. And still, still he wants more. He needs more. He inclines his head slightly toward Steve once he's upright again.

"I want you," he begins quietly, his voice low and deep in his throat. His eyes don't leave Steve's, not other than to look over that fancy, expensive shirt. Other than to crane down in an attempt to catch a glimpse of more, of some developing interest that he could swear he felt growing between them. But Steve tilts his head upward and makes a tsking sound behind his smile.

"You have me. Be more specific," Steve's thumb runs over the head of Bucky's cock with that, still through his pants, and his head would have fallen back once more if Steve's other thumb wasn't there on his chin to keep it in place.The words rush through Bucky, and he knows that they're only true in that most straightforward, businesslike sense, but it feels like something else in that moment, feels like something more. And he lets himself feel it, even if it's a promise of ruin.

"I want you to fuck me." Bucky says it plainly and the words surprise him when they escape his lips. It's vulgar and blunt and that's exactly how he wants it, so maybe it's only fair to say it that way. Steve smiles at it in any case, and his lips press down against Bucky's forehead. It feels so affectionate, so far from what he would have expected. And it still burns him up inside, still makes him twitch with anticipation.

"Here? Should we go to the bedroom?" Steve is the one prompting him and Bucky decides, with a glance down at the couch, that it's a good idea. He thinks for only a moment, just a second, before he moves his hands to cup down beneath Steve's ass, to grip him there so he can stand, carry him to a better spot. He doesn't know what to expect for a second, and Steve seems not to have expected that, but legs wrap around his waist and hands grip his shoulders and with that, they're off.

Steve feels like he doesn't weigh a thing in Bucky's arms and even that is thrilling in its own right, the idea of being able to scoop him up so effortlessly. It's another moment that has Bucky thinking, maybe Steve could appreciate some of this, maybe it's not all work with no fun. Steve is smiling and clinging close while they move, and maybe it's just some strange sort of professionalism, but it comes across as anything but while Bucky is making his way down the hall. 

His room isn't in its finest state, some clothes strewn about the floor, the bed unmade, but he tries not to worry about it too much. Certainly, this is the sort of guy who's seen a bit of everything. And, besides, there are more pressing issues on Bucky's mind. Namely, how Steve is pressing against him as they move, as they topple over into the bed so that Bucky's feet are planted on the floor and Steve is in his lap again.

Bucky takes a moment where he simply  _ looks _ at Steve, and he can't say he isn't impressed. Maybe he's a little on the small side, but there's something so appealing about that. There's an idea burning through his head and between his legs, about just how good it will feel to give himself over to someone he can heft around so easily. And Steve has a presence, something that goes beyond any lack of stature. He commands attention, commands the whole room where he's perched.

"Undress for me?" Bucky isn't surprised that his voice sounds so uncertain, that he's begging the question rather than demanding it. He wonders if that's different for Steve, if he's more accustomed to being bossed around, to being demanded of. Bucky is aware, after all, that he's only renting the guy's time, his attention. He's only playing at this for a few hours, courtesy a woman who just somehow knows too damn much about what he needs. He assumes that another man, maybe one with more experience, with more confidence in this field, would be forcing him around. But for Bucky's part he wants it to feel like it's anything but what it is. He wants to feel like a guy like this, just maybe, could have chosen him.

"That  _ does  _ make things easier," Steve smirks from his spot, but he's in no rush. He's lazy with undoing the buttons of that dark, well-pressed shirt. And he's not revealing much even when he finally gets to the point of shrugging it off, though the undershirt clings to him in ways that Bucky would only describe as obscene. The guy is skin and bones and hard-peaked nipples under soft cotton and Bucky is wild for him, absolutely wild. He wants to lean up and rip the fabric right away, and he could,  _ god  _ he could. 

He can feel it now without a doubt, the press of Steve's erection growing in his pants, and it comes as something of a relief. He doesn't have to work for it, doesn't have to find a way to arouse the guy so he can get down to business. Nature is taking its course on that front, and maybe Bucky has just a hint of pride, because he hasn't done a damn thing. He hasn't touched Steve, not the way he wants to, not yet. He hasn't done more than kissing him, and even that was all directed by the other man. He wants it to mean something, oh god, he wants it to mean a whole hell of a lot.

When Steve is down to his pants, working on the buckle of his belt, Bucky realizes he might really be in trouble here. He might really be getting himself in over his head. He could stop it now, if he really wanted to, but that's not what he wants. What he wants is to keep going. What he wants is to  _ know _ this stranger, wants to know what brought him here other than the most obvious answer. He wants to know how this was the line of work he came to, how he lives when he's not working, who he is outside of moments like these.

But he can't know that, it's not part of the deal, and he knows that much without being told. He wonders if he would be scolded for asking, but thinks better of even doing so. It makes his stomach tighten a little, but he doesn't speak of it, and if Steve notices anything changing, he doesn't comment. He only continues to undress himself, pulling off of Bucky's lap so he can let his pants fall to his feet. The stark outline of his erection is in full view against his briefs and, damn it, Bucky hadn't expected quite so  _ much _ . There's something about books and covers there, circling round the back of his head. He only smiles.

"Y'know, it's even easier if you're naked, too…" Steve points out, and it's only then that Bucky realizes he hasn't bothered to strip of his lounge clothes. He doesn't put on quite the show that Steve did, stripping down with utter efficiency. He tosses his tee into a pile that's already been forming beside the bed, kicks out of his sweats and finds himself utterly bare with that, laying properly on the bed now, completely exposed.

Steve is taking a moment to take him in at this point, and Bucky doesn't miss the way his cock twitches when he pushes out of his briefs. Just contact, Bucky tells himself, but Steve's eyes are glued to him and he's keen on letting himself believe it's more than just part of the job description. He can't help but think of other clients, other situations, ones that can't be quite as pleasing as this one. He can't help but think that Steve is getting something out of this himself, because Bucky feels a hell of a lot better to be thinking that way.

"Much better." Steve is doing all the sparse talking here, but Bucky is—to put it quite simply—speechless. He had an inkling as to what the night would entail when Pepper had spoken to him. She hadn't been entirely vague, after all, and there had been questions in the lead-up, ones that ensured he would have this perfect match. He hadn't been sold, not by a long shot, but he had to assume there was someone pulling the strings. Probably the same someone who had been griping for weeks that, really, he just needs to get laid and maybe they'd all have some peace. Someone who he decidedly doesn't want to think about when a gorgeous, naked blonde is crawling back into his bed, getting lips on him again.

Bucky likes the kissing more than he has any right to, and Steve must be honing in on it because he doesn't hold back. He doesn't avoid his tongue slipping into Bucky's mouth, he doesn't get shy about running his fingers down Bucky's sculpted chest in the meantime, exploring now-bare muscle as if he'd never felt anything like it. He's good at that, good at making Bucky feel like he isn't one in a line of many. And he's good at making Bucky want it, more and more, because he's keening into that lengthy kiss, his eyes fluttering open before it properly ends.

"Please," He sits himself up for a moment to take a breath, to consider his situation and his surroundings. Steve had already promised he could provide protection if the need be, but Bucky had—perhaps in a moment of uncharacteristic confidence—long since stocked up on that front. He went to the bedside table for the condom and for the extra lubricant that had, he thinks quite sadly, existed as a means for self-service up 'til this point. Steve didn't need to know that, of course, though maybe he could guess it by the way Bucky flushes when he hands over the bottle and the rubber.

"Eager. Sure you don't wanna take it slow? We have all night," Steve doesn't sound hesitant in the least, though. In fact, the words come out more as a tease than anything else. It makes Bucky huff a little chuckle from his nose and shake his head. If they have the whole night, after all, why not get the first round good and done, so they can get to more?

"Pretty sure I'm gonna keel right over if I don't get you in me soon." Bucky replies honestly, because that's exactly how it feels. It feels like his heart may burst directly from his chest, like he's sucked too much of the air out of the room to really be able to keep breathing, if something doesn't happen soon. 

Steve opens his mouth and gets so far as forming the word, 'how', before Bucky is positioning himself on the bed. There's a thought in his mind that riding the guy might be good, watching to see his face contort in pleasure, watching that tiny body tremble from top to bottom. But just now, his mind is elsewhere. His mind is in the gutter, where he wants to be fucked thoroughly into that too-springy mattress. So he gets himself on all fours, ass reared in the air, stretching downward not unlike a cat as his arms extend, his fists move to grip into messy sheets.

"Shit," Steve curses, and it's the first indication he's really given, properly given, that he likes what he sees. Yeah, there's the fact that he was already growing hard, but it wasn't words, it wasn't anything other than business, if Bucky was being honest with himself. And he wasn't too pleased to be honest with himself just now, because if he was, that little swear would all be business too.

"Somethin' wrong?" It's Bucky's turn to go teasing here, his neck craning so he can look over his shoulder at Steve, all frozen in place with the condom in one hand and the lube in the other, kneeling on the bed with his cock hard and ready. Bucky can't help the smile that comes to his face, something all too confident. He  _ knows  _ he looks good, and that look on Steve's face only cements it, only boosts his ego that much more.

"Don't usually look as nice as you do for me," Steve says it in a little bit of a rush, and Bucky only laughs. He's letting himself believe it, almost forcing himself to, but he knows better. Deep down, he knows this must be part of a script, all part of the act. He doesn't care. He keeps telling himself he doesn't care if it's real, so long as he can convince himself it is.

"Bet you tell tell that to all the boys." Steve makes a noise when Bucky shoots that one back, and for a moment he wonders if it really  _ isn't _ part of his usual talk. He sells it, in any case, with the way Bucky feels a hand grip at the curve of his ass, something that comes quick and a little rough, with Steve looking absolutely needy for it. He can definitely get used to this, the way his back arches in response.

"Only mean it with some of 'em, though," Steve makes a recovery with those words, back to the easy teasing that's developed between them. Bucky wonders if he means it with him, but he decides not to question it too much. Again, it's so much easier, feels so much better to take Steve's words at face value. Maybe he'll obsess over it later, almost certainly he will, but right now he has better things to obsess over. Like the grip of Steve's hand massaging his ass, or the way he looks while he does it, his eyes casting up and down Bucky's body.

Bucky is ready to tell Steve to get a move on, but maybe it reads across his face, because Steve's hand is pulling away, setting the condom briefly to the side so he can focus on the lube. When Bucky sees him starting to coat his fingers, he lets his head fall back to a neutral position. He wants to watch, wants to see everything Steve is doing, but the strain on his neck isn't worth it and, besides, he can  _ feel  _ it just fine.

And what he feels is more than fine. Steve gives him a hummed warning before that first slicked finger slides in. It's tight and, for a moment, uncomfortable, but his body relaxes around and gives way. And Steve knows what he's doing. He knows how to hook his finger upward and seek out that perfect place to press, to make Bucky see stars blossom behind his eyes, to feel his cock throb with the sudden pleasure.

Steve knows  _ exactly  _ what he's doing, in slow and easy motions. The stretch grows tighter with the second finger, but the pleasure is that much more pronounced when it works in, when he's starting to slowly fuck him open with the two digits. Bucky doesn't want to wait through the preparation, but he braces himself for it and he takes even, measured breaths. No sense in getting too worked up before the real fun begins.

It's easier said than done, though, because Steve really  _ is  _ good at this. He's good at making Bucky's head spin, good at murmuring all the little reassurances in the world. He's good at easing him into it, making it feel like it's all so easy and natural, the easiest thing in the world. And maybe it is. Maybe being fucked by this guy is exactly what Bucky was built for, because it certainly feels like it right now. Even with a third finger, with a pronounced and burning fullness, he isn't bothered. He isn't anything other than impatient.

It goes on like that for what feels like an eternity—Steve's fingers pressing and searching into him, finding pleasure for him, working him open by small degrees. Bucky feels again like he could die before the act even really gets underway, and when he feels like that to the point that it's unbearable, to the point that he's squirming and rocking himself onto Steve's fingers, he feels them wrench free.

"You're gonna hafta learn some patience," Steve warns, but when Bucky cranes his neck again, he sees him going for the condom, watches him tear open the packet and roll it on, and Bucky is ready to say that, no, he clearly  _ doesn't  _ need to learn any patience at all. Because he's about to get exactly what he wants. He outright groans when he feels the tip of Steve's cock press against his hole, the promise of more right there, hot and throbbing against him.

"Don't wanna. Just fuck me already," Bucky hisses the words back, his eyes narrowing where they catch Steve's. Steve, for his part, is all gentle amusement. His hands grip at Bucky's ass again at either side, spreading him open. It makes Bucky shudder, makes him croon in anticipation for what comes next. And what comes next, damn it, makes him almost wish he was more patient.

Steve might be short, might be skinny, but he's not lacking between the legs, and Bucky feels the harsh stretch of being filled up by him immediately. His head falls forward again and he lets it press into the sheets to hide a momentary grimace. Steve is kind enough to work slow here, to ease him open, to stay buried deep and still in him while he gets his bearings. His grip on the sheets loosens as his body relaxes, as the ache begins to subside.

"Good?" Steve's thumbs work easy circles where they rest and he waits for Bucky's murmured go-ahead before he continues. It's not without pain, but it's that good sort of ache, the one that is so singular and, admittedly, not as familiar as Bucky would prefer. He eases slowly in and out and Bucky feels his cock begin to throb again, eager for more just the moment he adjusts to the movement.

He doesn't have to say it, either. His body must be giving away every necessary clue, because Steve increases his pace with each subsequent thrust, and it sends Bucky close to oblivion right from the start. He's curved in just a way that it's not hard for him to find a good angle, not hard for him to find just the way Bucky wants to be fucked. And he doesn't need to be told, not more than once, that he can go harder.

"Fuck,  _ fuck  _ 's good. Keep goin'," Bucky whines out his encouragement. He can hear Steve's breaths coming in shorter as he moves inside him, and he loves that sound, loves that feeling. He has that sense again that, just maybe, this is something they're really and truly enjoying together. And how could they not be? Bucky isn't hard on the eyes, he knows that much. He's good to look at and, he wants to think, better to do more than look at.

He feels Steve's hands shift. One goes to his hip, gripping and balancing Steve there, bracing him as skin begins to slap against skin in earnest. His other goes to Bucky's hair, tangles through it, gives a sudden, sharp pull that makes Bucky gasp, makes him mouth out Steve's name in little more than a breath. The harsh hint of pain is only momentary, but it shoots through Bucky's body in a way that makes his cock go wet and leaking, makes his thighs tremble where they hold him up.

He thinks about admitting to how close he is, to how heavily the heat is beginning to coil in his belly, promising a quick release. He can't bring himself to feel a hint of shame about it, either. As Steve drives into him, he can't think of anything, can't feel anything, other than pleasure. So what if it's quick? He has an entire night to make up for it, after all. And Steve, fucking hell, Steve seems to realize, because that hand in his hair shifts and wraps around his cock.

"You gonna come for me?" Steve asks the question and it's almost enough, along with those eager strokes, to bring Bucky then and there. He wants to finish for him, wants to do anything Steve asks of him, very suddenly. He's breathless and he only nods, only whines out an approving sound. He's throbbing, leaking, so close, so fucking close. It only takes a few more thrusts, a few more evenly timed strokes, with Steve's thumb working over his slit, with Steve's encouraging words and hot breath moving to his ear, with their bodies curled together almost flush.

When the orgasm hits Bucky, he almost doesn't know what to do with it. It's so intense, so overwhelming that he nearly collapses directly to the bed with it. He whispers Steve's name, over and over, and maybe that's the wrong thing to do given the situation, but he isn't chastised for it and he doesn't feel a whole lot of shame. He doesn't know the guy, he'll probably never  _ get  _ to know him, but right now he's the only thing in Bucky's world. He's the only thing that matters. Because he fucked him utterly senseless and Bucky had needed that more than he might have ever needed anything else.

Steve finishes too, he can feel it through those last few presses inside him, can hear it with a long groan, something that rumbles where his chest is pressed against Buck's back, where his throat is craned into his shoulder. And Steve nearly does collapse entirely onto Bucky with it, the hand on his hip sliding to the bed instead, just barely holding him up over him. And, when he pulls out, they both do collapse, Bucky rolling to take Steve in his arms.

It's the wrong thing to do, it's so affectionate, but it's so easy. So easy to forget that Steve isn't really his, that this isn't  _ really _ what Bucky wants it to be. So easy to forget that they won't simply drift off, wake up like this, go at it again, live a whole damn life together. For a moment, in the haze of afterglow, Bucky can imagine just that. He can imagine this man slotting so easily into a life where nothing is. He can imagine a lot of things, and he does just that, right up until the point where they can start speaking again, start thinking about a second round.

* * *

 

Bucky's mood after that night improves in a way that even he can't deny. The usual snapping, the irritability, the urge to push back against every possible decision has been wiped away. He is, for the time being, content. It doesn't go without comment from the others—especially from Tony, who swears up and down that he was right all along. Bucky makes a point to neither confirm nor deny that he really just needed a really good lay.

He makes a point, too, to thank Pepper. She had her ways, and he still didn't entirely understand them. He didn't think to ask how she was so easily able to come up with the perfect company for him on a lonely night. He didn't think to ask her to do it again, either, because he was left with a card and a number after that night, and he had every intention to take matters into his own hands from here on out.          

**Author's Note:**

> I'm occasionally on [twitter](https://twitter.com/stinuhhhh).


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